


sunny with a high

by imperfectcircle, kenopsia (indie)



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Affection, Also this is cleaned up chatfic, Friends to Lovers, High cuddles, M/M, Marijuana, Mostly Sober oral sex, Recreational Drug Use, but only in the sense that sometimes you get what you didn't get in high school, mild roleplay, so please excuse any residual Tommy pov thoughts that may have slipped through the cracks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 08:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19989433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectcircle/pseuds/imperfectcircle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/indie/pseuds/kenopsia
Summary: “You should let me blow you,” Tommy says, and you could have knocked Lovett over with a feather.“What?” he splutters.“Number one,” Tommy says, cheerfully. “I bet it would be fun.” No other numbers from the list emerge.





	sunny with a high

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all of the pals who contributed and cheered this zany adventure on. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Title from Relient K's High of 75:
> 
> And now I'm sunny with a high of 75  
> Since You took my heavy heart  
> And made it light  
> And it's funny how you find  
> You enjoy your life  
> When you're happy to be alive

“Oh my God,” Tommy says.  _ Again _ .

Lovett laughs out loud. “You’re  _ thirty _ . How is this your first good weed experience?”

“Paranoia might spoil the effect a bit,” Tommy says, rubbing his palms up and down Lovett’s linen couch. “I just thought of something great.”

“Tell me,” Lovett coaxes, looking at the great limby sprawl of Tommy.

“I bet it’s amazing to get blown like this.”

“You’re not wrong.” Lovett says, heart in his throat. He’s not as floaty as Tommy, counterintuitive lightweight.

“You should let me blow you,” Tommy says, and you could have knocked Lovett over with a feather.

“What?” he splutters.

“Number one,” Tommy says, cheerfully. “I bet it would be fun.” No other numbers from the list emerge. 

Lovett doesn't answer. Maybe if he doesn't engage with this, Tommy will get distracted by the existence of his toes or the way glass is real but also is it _ really real _ ?

"Do you not want me to blow you?" Tommy asks a few minutes later, because Tommy lives to thwart Lovett's plans. 

"I'm good at it," Tommy continues. "I promise. Probably! How hard could it be?"

"How high  _ are _ you?" Lovett responds, laughing a little at the affronted face Tommy immediately and predictably makes. "You are such a lightweight."

"Not too high to blow your mind," Tommy says, wagging his non-existent eyebrows suggestively.

The two of them collapse into laughter together. The moment seems to pass, afterwards, Tommy propped up on the couch and Lovett sitting on the floor. 

Lovett had been aiming for slightly less anxious Tommy, and might have overshot a smidge, but when Tommy had told him two weeks ago  _ I don’t think weed works for me  _ and described a formative high school experience where he’d been at a coed party at Milton and had ended up lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and stuck on a single thought about how he wasn’t going to get into any colleges, Lovett had thought:  _ I can do better than that.  _

He’d been prepared for it to go the other way. If Tommy had been worried he might spin off the earth, Lovett had a weighted blanket at the ready.  _ This  _ Tommy, though, with his dopey grin and sexual innuendo and his hand moving like a stealthy spider across the couch to — what — oh, land in Lovett’s hair… how could he have expected that? 

Lovett tilts into Tommy’s touch and thinks about Tommy promising he’s good at sucking cock, which is going to haunt him for, oh, forever.

"I used to think about doing this all the time," Tommy remarks a little later, sculpting Lovett's hair into little tufts. "Not with you, before you, in high school. Darren Gateshead." He rolls the name around on his tongue. "He had really great hair. And a good laugh. I sat behind him in algebra."

He makes Lovett's curls into a quiff.

"You have a better laugh," he says loyally. "And Darren Gateshead was kind of mean, sometimes."

"Thomas," Lovett says, in sing-song. "Did you have a  _ crush _ on Darren with the good hair?" 

Tommy laughs.

"Not really?" Tommy says, hesitating. He keeps tracing a part that won't stay into Lovett's hair, one long finger down his scalp. "Just like I feel about you, I guess?"

"You know," Tommy continues, unaware that he’s setting Lovett’s brain on overdrive, little fires sparking in every room, "like I wanted his attention, I guess? I used to think about --" He laughs. "You'll like this, it's so stupid. I used to think about how maybe if he and I were trapped in the locker room overnight or something, and it got cold, what we'd do to keep warm."

Tommy runs both his hands through Lovett's curls at once, pulling them back from his face into a cute kind of slicked back look that would take so much gel to achieve in real life.

"You look good like that," he says approvingly. "You should let me do this all the time."

He's so happy. That much is obvious by looking at him. Lovett is reminded of Favs, suddenly, who’s big-hearted joy can be seen from space when he’s well loved. 

Lovett reaches around to curl one of his hands around Tommy’s. “This seems like more of an at-home-and-high-in-your-tommyjons-look.”

“You could be serving a look like that,” Tommy says. 

Lovett huffs out a laugh, gives his wrist a friendly little squeeze. “And that other thing. It’s not stupid. It's never stupid to want things, Tommy," Lovett continues, speaking to Tommy's wrist. "And that sounds like a really relatable thing to want."

“Tell me about him,” Lovett says fondly. He’s smiling at Tommy. “Your Darren. What was he like?”

“He was really smart,” Tommy says immediately. “Like, you could say anything, and he got it almost before you had.”

Lovett nods, getting it

“And I used to think maybe if we spent time together, some time that wasn’t in class or whatever, maybe I’d say something that surprised him, something he wasn’t expecting.”

“Like maybe if you were trapped in the locker room together after what, lacrosse?” Lovett prompts. “And you had to talk to each other, because what else were you going to do together, sit in silence until morning?”

“Yeah!” Tommy says, nodding fast. It makes him feel dizzy, so he lies down, pulling Lovett down to lie face to face

“This isn’t weird, is it?” he checks with Lovett. “Me telling you about Darren, I mean. Because that was so long ago, and you’re way funnier, and, like, I wouldn’t start a podcast company with him.”

Lovett’s face does something soft and sweet that becomes a smile. “No, Tommy, it’s not weird. It’s good. I’m honored you’re trusting me with this” — which is stupid, because Tommy trusts Lovett with so much more than memories of Darren. Tommy would trust Lovett with his first blow job, if Lovett would let him.

Tommy earnestly explains this to Lovett. “Me giving, I mean. I’ve received blow jobs before. Blowwwwww jobs. Blows job. Joe Blobs.”

“Thank you for making it clear exactly how high you are,” Lovett says, but it’s nice, not mean, and he pats the side of Tommy’s cheek fondly

There’s room on the couch for Tommy. There’s room on the couch for Lovett. Lovett has just had the truly life altering experience of getting to hear Tommy’s clumsy mouth and brain trip and get tangled in the phrase  _ blow job _ . He’d be a real creep if he let Tommy blow him but the goal of the night was to replace what sounded like a pretty bleak  _ coming of age _ story with a more lighthearted evening in, and, well, it seems to be working.

“Budge over, space cowboy,” Lovett says, kneeing onto the couch. If he’d thought about it in advance, he would have picked up a sorbet for Tommy.

Tommy groans playfully at being moved, but leans into the cheek pat. Lovett says, “If we’re going to be trapped here in the gym all night with no heat, we’re going to have to share the couch.”

“Oh my God,” Tommy says, blushing to the tips of his ears and burying his face in Lovett’s shoulder.

Lovett strokes his back gently. Tommy’s back ripples unher his hands.

“Keep doing that?” Tommy says, voice lost in suspension between a request and a demand.

“Good game today,” Lovett says. He keeps stroking Tommy’s back, which isn’t part of the Thing, Tommy thinks, it’s a real thing now between Lovett and Tommy, not a pretend thing between Lovett, Tommy and Tommy’s memories

“Thanks,” Tommy says. “You were great out there. That sweet pass between you and Farris, man.”

He looks so sly, saying it, like he and Lovett are getting away with something. Lovett could get used to being on the inside of Tommy’s secrets. 

“Couldn’t have done it without your assist,” Lovett says. His hand is steady on Tommy’s back, big sweeping strokes that say, hey, we’re in this together. “Fuck, it’s getting cold already. You think it’ll get bad tonight?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, voice scratchy. “No insulation in the walls.”

“Huh,” Lovett says. “You  _ are _ smart. I thought so, but you never know, you know?”

Lovett moves them so they’re lying face to face on the couch, pressed together to share body heat.

“I can’t wait to be done with high school,” he says, breath against Tommy’s cheek. “Everyone’s so conventional here.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees, and Lovett wonders if he would have been able to agree with him in high school. He kind of doubts it, but it’s nice to pretend. “Like if they do anything that risks being the slightest bit uncool they’ll melt or something.”

“Right!” Lovett says. “I knew you’d get it. The guys here would rather freeze their balls off than share body heat with another guy. Losers.”

Tommy’s not a loser. Tommy is sharing body heat with Lovett. He laughs into Lovett’s shoulder. God, it’s such a happy sound. 

“Lovett,” he says to the strip of neck just meeting Lovett’s collar. “Can you tell me about something you wanted in high school? Something you felt stupid to want?”

“What didn’t I want?” Lovett says, gripping him with his forearm wrapped around the small of his back. “I wanted more people to come to my bar mitzvah than came to my arch nemesis Lucas’. I wanted people to laugh at my jokes. I wanted this teacher to notice me in a way that in retrospect was not exactly kosher.”

Lovett tries to think through all the grade school paper cuts for one that would feel commensurate with Tommy’s old hunger. Something he hadn’t exactly been able to look directly at, back then.

“You know how I workshop my tweets?” Lovett asked, not really a question. “I used to tutor this guy as a sophomore, so, like, basic algebra-two stuff. I was prepping  _ all week _ for my one hour performance. Sometimes there were notes.”

“Was he like. A cool guy?”

“He wasn’t a Hanson brother, but he was a year and a half older and it  _ felt _ very cool to get to hang out with him, and you know I like to be the person in the room that knows the most about, well. Anything.”

Tommy does not immediately  _ mention _ that Lovett still thinks of Hanson brothers as peak hotness, but later, Lovett is sure  _ mmmm bop _ is going to come up in casual conversation.

“Anyways. He was a great audience. A real Jon Favreau. Not quite as satisfying as a full noodle neck laughing, but he was a really neat guy, and he had a drivers license and sometimes after a session, he’d ask me if I wanted a slushy and we’d go around the corner and get one. I made it into something else in my head, but he was really nice about it.”

“Wait. Did you ask him out?” Tommy almost yelps, disbelief thick in his voice.

“Plot twist: I used to be a much braver little toaster.”

Tommy’s face darkens immediately. “But — he was nice about it, you said.”

“Oh, he super was. He was actually my first kiss. He passed algebra two and when he came to tell me, he picked me up. You know when you like...” Lovett gives Tommy a quick, jerky squeeze and wonders if he’s getting the point across to Tommy, that he’d been completely lifted off the ground. How small and contained he’d felt, how he’d squirmed out of the hold almost immediately because of the surefire boner that was coming. 

Tommy squeezes him now. “And you just went in for it?”

“Oh, no, he’d already super nicely let me down by then.”

“Anyways. I’m sorry, you’re just trying to enjoy your buzz and I’m being a big ass downer.”

“We already went over my high school longing,” Tommy says. They’re so entwined. Lovett is basically all nerve endings. “I — I asked. It’s weird to think of you before you became you-you.”

“I’ve always been me. I’m still that dumb twerp, trying to get cooler boys to laugh at my jokes,” Lovett whispers. Tommy look at him, squinting, as if he doesn’t know what to make of him.

“Lovett. You’re the coolest guy I know. You shotgunned me earlier and I thought I was going to die.”

Lovett is content to lean into being in a couch tangle. Time passes slowly, and Lovett can’t keep track of it well, but he feels his own high stretch and mellow, and he wonders if Tommy’s is doing the same. It feels nice, being high and maybe flirting and being called  _ the coolest guy Tommy knows.  _ Lovett will stay here, precarious, as long as someone will let him. 

At some point, Tommy’s stomach rumbles. It makes Tommy laugh and give Lovett’s shoulder a playful bite, as if he could get a little chomp right through the T-shirt.

Lovett’s boner, which he’d been politely ignoring at half-chub, surges to full hardness between them.

Even after everything Tommy has said, Lovett still feels that flinching moment, sure that Tommy is going to shove him off of the couch. Instead, Tommy just clings, Lovett’s hard cock noticeable and snug between them, his own dick also reacting to festivities.

Lovett shifts like he’s going to move, climb off of Tommy, and Tommy puts one big hand on the small of Lovett’s back and holds him there.

The aborted motion and Tommy pushing him down makes Lovett’s dick move against Tommy’s hip and it feels too good to try to get up again.

“Stay,” Tommy whispers, his breath tickling Lovett’s neck. “You feel so good.”

Lovett is pretty sure Tommy is most of the way to sober — softer, relaxed, but judgement intact.

He can’t resist pushing just a little. “Stoned Tommy has some interesting opinions.”

“Stoned Tommy wanted to blow you,” Tommy says. “Sober Tommy still wants to pin you down and get you off, however you want that to happen.”

Lovett’s dick, already very invested in proceedings, makes a strong case for  _ yes, please, now _ .

Tommy undulates against Lovett. Who the fuck taught him how to undulate? That’s some higher tier shit right there.

“I—“ Lovett’s breath catches. “I could be convinced.”

He’s not sure what he expected. Maybe a slow, sweet kiss from this lovely, beautiful man who’s unexpectedly interested in him. Maybe some excited fumblings, or an over-keen attempt to get his pants off. But not this, Tommy’s mouth on the side of his neck, kissing a trail down the underside of his jaw — 

Not Tommy’s hand in his hair, pulling firmly to tilt his head back for better access — 

Not Tommy’s happy hum against the pulse point of his neck. 

All of these things are working together for a very coherent whole. Tommy’s suckling journey ends at Lovett’s wrinkled collar, which he noses at before kissing his way back up, adam’s apple and chin and jaw, getting sweeter and briefer as they climb to Lovett’s face.

“Who  _ are _ you?” Lovett half gasps, tilting to move against Tommy.

Lovett rolls again, just to crash against Tommy who, Lovett is not surprised to note, cuts quite the handsome figure inside of his grey sweats.

"It's me, Tommy," Tommy tells him, dopey and earnest and biting his own bottom lip around a smile. It is an insanely cute look.

Tommy had said:  _ no, not a crush. just sort of the way I feel about you. _ Tommy had said:  _ I think it would be fun. _ Tommy had said:  _ stay.  _ Now, Lovett can take him up on it. 

Lovett puts his hand against Tommy's neck, strokes his thumb to land in the hollow of Tommy's collar and leans in to press a kiss against his smiling mouth, tentative, and then a second time, lippy and hungry. The kiss was a kettle on the stove, heating quickly until Lovett's blood was rolling. Tommy had gotten him on his back and wedged a knee between his legs while Lovett had been dazed by his mouth, had oriented himself so that he was crowding Lovett in, which had in the past annoyed him. Instead, he thought, insistently:  _ hot. _

“Going to get off like this — ah — just like high school?” Lovett says, overwhelmed in the best of ways by the weight and press of Tommy, above around against, his belly swooping every time Tommy moves.

“What about tonight isn’t,” Tommy says, jovial. “But you’re so hot. You’re way better than anyone I wanted back then.”

Lovett is touched by the sincerity in Tommy’s voice, how important it is to Tommy that Lovett understands he’s better than those high school guys who meant the world to a version of Tommy who didn’t yet know how big that world could be.

He wants to reciprocate, but he’s not sure how. 

“When I was in high school, I wouldn’t have even known how to start imagining someone like you,” he says. “Hot and funny and smart and nerdy and endlessly interesting.”

Tommy buries his face in Lovett’s shoulder.

“I like you a lot,” Lovett says. It’s an awkward, vulnerable thing to say, and it leaves him feeling clumsy and exposed, but he does. He likes Tommy a lot. He likes Tommy’s big dumb smile and his awkward blushes and his serious frowns and his whole essential Tommyness. A lot. He likes that Tommy felt ok getting high with him tonight. He likes that Tommy told him a secret.

“Then let me blow you?” Tommy says into Lovett’s shoulder. “I cannot overstate how much I want to right now.”

Lovett could barely say no to stoned, distractable Tommy. Sober, focused Tommy is beyond his ability to deny.

“Have at it,” he says, raising his arms from Tommy’s back to rest them above his head, and Tommy slides to his knees.

“You’re so fucking hot, Lovett,” he says to Lovett’s tented track pants. Lovett’s pretty sure this is not his best look, but he’s learned the hard way not to argue with gorgeous men who are trying to blow him.

He pulls Lovett’s pants and boxers down in one easy motion that suggests maybe this might be his first rodeo, but he’s probably given it a lot of thought.

“Tommy,” Lovett says, delighted, “have you—“ Tommy swallows him down. Fuck. That’s. Lovett can’t remember what he was saying. Not important. Not important like the wet heat of Tommy’s mouth, the gorgeous velvety pressure, the, fuck, ah, fuck.

It’s hot, it’s urgent, but it’s still Tommy — the tiny part of Lovett’s brain that isn’t entirely given over to  _ yes ah yes please don’t stop _ can feel the concentration, the care.

Tommy does something with his tongue and sparks shoot up and down Lovett’s spine.

It’s perfect, it’s perfect, Tommy’s perfect; Lovett feels so happy, so cared for, so full of pleasure and sensation and desire that part of him wants to ride this wave forever, to spend the rest of his life on this couch with Tommy between his legs.

He can feel himself about to come, though, so he taps out, or tries to, but Tommy just looks up at him like he’s issued a challenge

And he’s coming, fuck, and Tommy’s just taking it, just letting Lovett come in his mouth like Lovett is the one doing him a favour, before hopping up and popping into Lovett’s kitchen. Lovett hears the tap, on and off, briefly. 

“That was, you were,  _ Tommy _ ,” Lovett manages, a true but incoherent thing when Tommy comes back, face flushed and lips wet. “Let me kiss you, Tommy, you’ve got to let me kiss you, I have to, you’ve got to—“ He pulls Tommy down into a kiss. 

Tommy is right there with him, kissing him back with all the filthy, desperate intensity Lovett is bringing to it.

He’s so hot. And so good. Lovett wants to fuck him blind and also cuddle him and protect him from the world. 

“What do you want?” Lovett asks, pulling back. “What can I do for you? Do you want my mouth? My ass? My hands?”

Tommy shudders at the offer. “Keep talking like that and I won’t need any of them”

That sends a spike of heat through Lovett’s sated body.

“Anything you want, Tommy,” Lovett says. Then, feeling brave and happy in equal measure: “Now and whenever you want. A standing offer. Mi cuerpo es tu cuerpo.”

“Will you just—“ Tommy says. “Your mouth. Please.”

Lovett’s going to make it good, he is, slick and sexy and drawn out and everything Tommy could ask for, fingertips and lips and eye contact and heat, he decides, rolling his shoulders and setting himself to the task. 

As it is, he barely gets his mouth on Tommy before Tommy’s coming in him, spilling out of Lovett’s mouth and down his chin.

Lovett gently sucks him through it, hands warm and steady on Tommy’s thighs, trying to make this feel safe for him, feel good and warm and known, even if he can’t make this time last.

Tommy starts trying to apologize while he’s cleaning himself up and Lovett puts a finger on his mouth. “Shh,” Lovett says. “You’re being very stupid. I do not accept apologies about very satisfying skin adventures. It is unconscionable.” 

Tommy is still on his back. Lovett looks at the warm, flat expanse of his chest and thinks, I’d like to sprawl there, so he does. Tommy’s hands come up around him, touching his shoulders. Lovett can feel Tommy’s heartbeat slowing to a resting pace. It feels like a little intermittent greeting, letting Lovett know that he's still there, saying, _hi, hello, howdy,_ like he'd forget it for a second. He nuzzles in. 

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all just FYI, the OC that Lovett got to kiss in high school has a name and a very bright future and they still keep in touch.


End file.
